


Procrastinate Together

by GrapieBee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Langst, Suicide Attempt, kangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:40:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrapieBee/pseuds/GrapieBee
Summary: -Inappropriate airlock access, safety precautions for exit not taken, please address exiting party immediately.-Lance frowned, setting his bowl and spoon aside, touching the warning message as he did so, unsurprised when an image of the airlock bay sprung forward.What was a surprise though, was the fact that Keith was in there.





	Procrastinate Together

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this while listening to "In the House, in a Heartbeat" by John Murphy, defo worth a listen.

Lance, in many rights, was a procrastinator and had been for most of his life.

His homework and practicals at school and at the Galaxy Garrison were often set aside until the last moment. Well, less often and more like every single time, but semantics and all that.

“I work better under pressure!” was his go to answer when asked why he didn’t just _do_ things sooner.

While true to a certain extent, the pressure of time running out bearing down on him always set his nerves on edge in a way that had him zoned in and ready to get shit done, the reason was far more simple.

If he didn’t _have_ to do something right then and there, why would he?

He would find, over the years, this thought process would be both a detriment and a blessing.

It had caused one too many arguments with his mother over chores because, and she had disliked his thought process on this tremendously, her wanting something done now didn’t mean it _had_  to be.

She had called it obstinance. Lance had called it thinking for himself.

But, in the same turn, it had also kept him from jumping into situations without thinking them over first. Regardless of how pushy his peers were about getting him to commit to something, usually some dumb prank or sneaking out at night, just because they _wanted_ his answer right then and there, it didn’t mean he had to give one.

He’d think about it, weigh the pros and cons and only then would he give his answer. He still managed to get himself into dumb trouble, but it was never any dumb trouble he hadn't been ok with getting into in the first place. That was his rationalization on those sorts of things and he was going to stick to it, thank you very much.

So, he procrastinated and still made great grades, eventually did do his chores, and had dozens of friends who made their own stupid choices.

When he went to space, he found that this mentality had very few places to be wedged into.

Allura always had a logical explanation as to why something had to happen then and there. Coran usually had some sort of traditional Altean saying and the threat of even more traditional Altean food for dinner to back up why a task needed to be done pronto. Shiro...well, Lance had no desire to let his hero down, so he never felt the need to argue there.

As the days turned into weeks turned into months out in space, Lance slowly began to lose touch with his professional procrastinator proweres and, needless to say, he wasn’t much of a fan of that fact.

So, in all of his wisdom, he decided to put off sleeping for a little bit, just because he could. He didn’t _need_ to sleep just yet, so why would he?

It was late in the castle’s evening cycle, well past the point that everyone in the castle, including Pidge, should have been asleep. The operative word being should.

So, when he’s milling around the main deck of the ship, a bowl of a sweet custard like concoction Hunk had made in his hands after a trip to the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting a little red light to start silently flashing on the control panels.

He blinked at it, his spoon still in his mouth, a quiet panic forming in his chest that he was just as quick to try and push back down.

He and the other earthlings had come to learn that lots of things flashed and moved and blared in ways they were unaccustomed to on this ship.

It was only after Lance had pressed a green flashing panel that had the ship stuttering to a halt for a few hours that it was decided that adjustments needed to be made. Shiro had defended him to the two Alteans, who had been aghast that Lance had not known the green flashing had been trying to tell him that the panel was malfunctioning and that it should not be touched, explaining time and time again:

“Green is more of like a ‘everything’s good to go’ color back on earth.”

They weren’t convinced until they had gotten the same sort of explanation from Hunk and Pidge and Keith.

Once the panel had been repaired and the ship was moving again, Coran and Hunk spent hours tinkering with the displays, trying to come up with color compromises that worked for everyone on board.

The only thing that had been truly the same between the two cultures, though, was that anything accompanied by a flashing red light was probably not good.

Lance stared at the blinking light, contemplating on whether or not he should go get Coran before messing with anything. He pulled the spoon from his mouth, scooped up another bite of food and put it back to his lips, considering the thought.

There was no noise blaring, no alarms or sirens to tell them that something was actually attacking them. This was more of a warning, a silent indicator that ‘hey, something needs your attention’, than it was an all out alarm. Probably not worth waking Coran up from the few hours of sleep he needed each night.

Holding the spoon between his teeth, he gave the flashing light a definitive push, watching as a small display screen pulled up, a diagnostics of sorts, to tell him where the problem was. He was silently grateful that the castle was advanced enough to convert the written language to suit the person at the helm. Pidge had told him about the Altean language courses and he had no desire to join her.

**_-Inappropriate airlock access, safety precautions for exit not taken, please address exiting party immediately.-_ **

Lance frowned, setting his bowl and spoon aside, touching the warning message as he did so, unsurprised when an image of the airlock bay sprung forward.

What was a surprise, though, was the fact that Keith was in there.

In there without a suit.

In there, with his back turned to the camera’s vantage point and his hand raising to the control panel that Lance knew would open the doors that kept him safely on the ship and away from the instant death the coldness of deep space promised-

The reality of the situation suddenly hits him like a ton of bricks and, without evening thinking about what he was doing, he pushed the button that Hunk had shown him months ago would turn on the overhead coms to the airlock bay.

“Keith!” his voice came out louder than he had wanted and he watches as the image of his friend jumps, his head darting around the room for a moment, probably trying to find the source of the noise.

“I’m on the overhead com, up in the control room.”

His voice, now that he feels like he has a little more control over it, comes out almost calm.

But his hands have a shake to them and he realizes how precarious all of this is when Keith turns to look at the camera’s port.

Lance doesn’t know if it’s always been there and he’s just seeing it now, but Keith looks...he looks so _tired._

He sees Keith hold eye contact with the camera for a moment before he shakes his head and turns his back to Lance again, his hand quickly coming up to rest against the panel that would jettison him out to his death.

“Wait, come on Keith, y-you-”

Lance’s voice breaks and he doesn’t care because he’s suddenly aware of how badly his heart is hammering against his ribs, how cold his blood feels, how frantic the thoughts running through his head are.

_Doesn’t have to happen, this doesn’t have to happen at all, definitely doesn’t have to happen right now-_

“You don’t have to die now.” He finishes his thought lamely, running on desperate instincts.

Because that’s what Lance is in that moment; desperate to help, desperate to save, desperate to reach through the screen and just hold Keith and pull him away from whatever terrible things had brought him to that airlock in the middle of the night.

He watches, holding his breath, as Keith slowly lowers his hand, his back still purposefully turned to Lance.

“Like, ok, there’s no timetable on this or anything. S-so like, you don’t have to die _now_. Just, like, put it off, procrastinate, I’ll even procrastinate with you just _please_ -“

It was then that Keith turned back to the camera, unintentionally looking Lance square in the eyes as he does so.

His expression is still tired, but there’s something more there now, something else mixing in with that terribleness.

Lance clings to that something else, tries to speak to it as much as he can, because, from what Lance can tell all the way from the control room, that something else looks an awful lot like hope.

“We don’t have to _talk_. I won’t ask you to _talk._  Just...just get back into the main part of the ship and I’ll come get you. Please Keith, please, come back inside.”

A pause. A beat.

And then Keith nods.

And all the air in Lance’s lungs rush out.

It’s only once he sees Keith move away from the panel that could kill him, sees that he’s moved towards the door to the main ship, watches as he opens that door and walks through it, that he finally moves himself.

He feels relieved and numb, detached and suddenly running on fumes, as his long, long legs carry him faster than he’s ever run before.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion when he finally makes it to the airlock door and there’s Keith, curled in on himself, his back leaning against the wall, his head pressed firmly against his knees.

When Keith raises his head, it hits home all over again that this was real, that this was happening, had almost happened, when he looks him in the eyes.

There’s fear.

There’s exhaustion.

There’s hope.

Lance holds onto that hope, holds onto that look, and knows the only way he can help is if he tries to fan that ember into a flame.

Without words, Lance steps to him, his hands still shaking and his brow slick with sweat and kneels down to Keith’s level.

He wants to cry. Wants to ask why. Wants to understand.

Instead, he just pulls Keith close and all but crushes him in a tight embrace.

His thoughts are no longer desperate, no longer manic in their need to reach his friend, to try and put into words something that would keep him from killing himself.

That moment has passed and Lance is left trying to figure out where to go from here.

Lance is afraid.

Lance is tired.

Lance is hopeful.

They stay like that for a long, long while. Lance holding Keith close, Keith returning the embrace eventually and, at some point, there’s someone crying and Lance isn’t sure if it’s Keith or himself or both of them at the same time.

They sit there, right outside the room Keith almost killed himself in, and they procrastinate together.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly a slight vent peice, yeeeeeeet.


End file.
